


Took so Long for Me to Realize

by ShadowValkyrie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean POV, M/M, Schmoop, Short, fallen!cas, post-s8, spnspringfling 2013, third-person POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowValkyrie/pseuds/ShadowValkyrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas stargaze and decide that maybe the future doesn't look so bleak after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Took so Long for Me to Realize

**Author's Note:**

  * For [petite_madame](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=petite_madame).



> Written for the lovely petite_madame in the 2013 SPN-SpringFling Exchange on LJ.  
> Prompt: _Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?_  
>  Warnings: spoilers for the S8 finale, mentions of homophobia and hints at past abuse  
> Title from Lynyrd Skynyrd’s _Lucky Man_. Huge thanks for the beta to Thursdaysisters on LJ – remaining mistakes and questionable style choices all mine!

“I miss it,” Cas says quietly, then clarifies, “flying.” And yeah, that’s definitely something that was bound to come up at some point. 

Dean holds back the dozen easy quips that come to mind. _I don’t_ , or, _I can buy you a plane ticket, if you like that better_ , or, _Let’s head down to Santa Fe and steal a helicopter then_. Yes, it stings, but Dean knows it’s not really meant to be a comment on their life, or Baby’s relative lack of travelling comfort, so he can damn well keep his mouth shut. And he doubts Cas expects an answer, anyway. 

It’s not like they usually talk much, and for the most part, the silence between them is a companionable thing. Was, until a moment ago. Just the two of them, clear night sky above, the Impala’s hood slowly cooling under them, still-warm wind on their faces, and the majestic emptiness of the Arizona desert all around. 

It _is_ the kind of sky that feels like you could fall right down into it, though, matte velvet strewn with stars, and the thought of flying comes easy. Add a starship, and it’s not even a bad thought. For him.

It must be very different for Cas. And while Dean vaguely gets the concept of homesickness, he can’t wrap his head around what it must be like to not only lose that place, and everyone you’ve ever known, and a huge chunk of yourself to go with it, but also every hope of ever getting any of it back. The whole world could turn into a Mad-Max-style wasteland overnight, and Dean suspects he still wouldn’t be in the same place Cas is right now. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, necessity be damned. 

He’s said it often, these last few months – _sorry you’re cold, sorry indigestion is a thing for you now, sorry your broken collarbone won’t heal in a second anymore, sorry for pain, for boredom, for the triviality of human existence_ – and it’s bounced right off his miserable ex-angel like the hollow phrase it is. 

But this time, it seems to spark something, because he hears Cas shift next to him, a whisper of Dean’s borrowed Sabbath T-shirt against Baby’s smooth finish. 

He turns his head and finds Cas staring at him, piercing and confused at once. “Why?” 

Dean can’t help but smile at the familiar expression. It’s a short-lived smile, though. There would be more neutral answers – _sorry you can’t fly, sorry you can’t go home_ – but they’d be half the truth at best. “Sorry you’re stuck with me,” he says, and the honesty feels barbed inside his chest. 

There have been so many conversations like that lately. With Sam, mostly, but a few, too, with Cas, ever since they’ve taken their leave of the Kansas spring to head south. Each one is like pulling shards of glass from under his skin. He still isn’t sure whether the extraction will allow some old wounds to heal, or will make them both bleed out instead. 

Cas takes a moment to respond to his apology, gears clearly turning, then he frowns. “How can you think so little of yourself?” He sits up, glaring now, anger vibrating in his rough voice. “And for that matter, Dean, I am _not_ stuck with you. I could have stayed in the bunker with Sam, or gone to Canada with Charlie, or taken a gun and a car and started a life of my own. Neither of which I did. I am with you because I _want_ to be.” 

Sudden speech over, he stares down at Dean for another second, daring him to talk back. 

Dean’s too stunned to speak, so all opening his mouth does is prompt Cas to lean over him for the kind of hard, demanding kiss that would make his knees buckle if he wasn’t already flat on his back. 

When Cas breaks away, he looks calmer. With the anger worked off, there’s only sadness left. “I love you, Dean.” Matter of fact, like they tell each other sappy shit like that all the time. “After all we’ve been through together, I wish you’d start to believe me. There’s no place, in this world or any other, that I’d rather be.” He lifts a hand to quell Dean’s protest. “If I could still fly, it wouldn’t make a difference. I’d come back to you. Always have, always will.” 

Dean swallows. This is something he didn’t realise he needed to hear, but now that he did, it feels like it’s filling up cracks inside him that have been there too long for him to even be aware of them anymore. 

Except, Cas’s next words make the relief come tumbling down like a sack of bricks: “If anything, I should apologize that _you_ are stuck with _me_. That’s why it bothers me so much, Dean, this loss of my grace: you had an angel to call your own – now look what’s left of me. I used to be pure fire, divine intent given shape, able to reduce a thousand acres of city to smouldering heap of ash in the blink of an eye. Now I’m mortal, tied to this time and plane of existence, to a vessel whose gender troubles you, a vessel that will age and die...” 

It’s clearly Dean’s turn to shut him up, and he does. This kiss is no less harsh than the last, and Cas surrenders to it eventually, lets Dean try to wash away every last hint of bitterness. 

“Look, Cas.” He doesn’t unwrap his arms from around his friend’s shoulders. “I won’t say I ain’t got issues with the whole gay thing sometimes.” That’s an understatement, but Cas doesn’t call him out on it. “Can’t pretend I’d be sorry if your meatsuit had been a girl. – For one thing it’d be a damn sight easier to get a motel room with a king-size in Alabama.” 

Cas does him the favour of acknowledging his weak attempt at making light of the situation, even if it’s just with an eyeroll. They both know Dean’s past is chock-full of reasons he freaks sometimes. And that was another talk that was… less than fun. 

“I’m working on it, though. It’s not your fault I’m fucked up, Cas. If anything, you’re the one who makes me better.” He keeps his eyes trained on Cas’s, willing his words to stick. “You growing old don’t bother me. I’m in the same boat there, you know? It won’t be so bad if we don’t have to do it alone.” He gives a mirthless snort. “And we’re still Hunters; chances are, we won’t make it past forty, anyway.” 

Cas looks like he’s maybe going to mention that he passed the double digits a couple eons back. 

Dean leans forward to press another kiss to his lips, then grins. “But, man, if we do? We’ll make awesome grumpy old men!” 

“With guns.” 

“With guns, yeah.” 

For a moment, they’re smiling at each other, and if Dean had to guess, he’d say they both picture a similar future: one of endless highways and evil shit going up in flames, and decades of horrible influence on Sam’s kids. 

But then Cas’s shoulders slump a little under Dean’s hands. There’s a hysteric edge to his laugh. “I hate guns.” 

Dean hugs him. “No, you don’t. You hate that you have to use them. But really, Cas, if this twists you up because of me? Don’t let it. I sure as hell won’t complain about your lack of handy superpowers. Not like I ever had any of my own to offer. And yeah, I’ve been shitty about this in the past, I know, but I like to think I learnt better. – Not that I meant it back then. Not really.” He takes a deep breath, but in the end it comes easier than he ever expected. “I love you too, Cas. You could be trapped in the walking corpse of Richard Nixon, and it wouldn’t change jack shit.”

It’s good to see Cas’s shaky little smile turn into a full-on smirk. “I’m afraid that would, in fact, be inconvenient and highly detrimental to our sex life.” 

Dean chokes. “Dude!” 

“Your metaphor.” Cas can be merciless about these things. After a moment, his eyes soften again, though. Calm now. “But thank you, Dean.” 

They sit in silence for a long while after that, shoulders touching and hands entwined. And if they’re looking out over the rough beauty of the nighttime desert, not up at the sky anymore, maybe that makes all the difference.


End file.
